Eden
by MadeElly
Summary: St. John learns what love means, and the consequences that come with it.


_**Eden**_

'And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever…'

-_Genesis, 1:3:23_

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He walked into the garden, looking around at the small splendor that it held. His sisters had built its beauty from nothing but a small plot of soil, and he knew he had God to thank for what it grew in to. Only He could turn something so little into something so grand. Diana and Mary must have also had much talent for Him to notice their tiny garden and give grace upon it.

Feeling the breeze on his face, he looked around at the flowers. There were all flavors of plants: tulips, lilies, raspberry bushes, all framed by four gigantic maple trees, creating a perfect picture of serenity. His eyes wandered, taking in the sight. The gaze he held so steadily fixed upon a certain flower: the rose.

Its beauty transfixed him. The curvature of the petals: the perfect pigment of scarlet. He attempted to pick one up, and quickly jerked his hand back. A fervid, burning sensation spread through his hand as he watched the thick, red liquid fall. The pain was minimal, but he scolded himself for letting his guard down and picking up a flower whose thorns were obviously prominent. Its appearance tricked him; lured him; even hurt him.

An unnatural gust of wind blew towards him as he took a grubby handkerchief and wiped his hand, pressuring the small gash with the cloth.

'Mr Rivers?" he heard a dulcet voice call him. He instantly knew the voice: it was the voice that he wished to hear every moment: the voice calling him in his dreams, calling him away from God.

'Miss Oliver,' he gave a smile, hoping it would either please her or signal her to leave. The pain of having her near him was overpowering at times. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to whisper in her ear sweet nothings. Restraining himself from sweeping her into his arms was the hardest thing he had ever attempted to do. Looking at her made him mad with desire: her angelic appearance, her sweet presence … his love for everything about her made him worried: worried that he might give in to temptation. That he might fall as Adam and Eve once did from the Garden of Eden.

She bowed her head lightly, looking up at him with a coy yet innocent look. Sometimes she baffled him: he thought he would never know what was going through her mind. And at times, he could tell just from the look in her eyes what she was thinking. He almost chuckled to himself, realizing that his relationship with her was one enormous contradiction, but he stopped himself from that release of emotion. Emotion led to temptation, and temptation led to pain. Sins were not forgiven by God, he believed, and sometimes he worried that loving Rosamond Oliver was a sin that he would pay dearly for.

Walking over to the ivy coated palisade, she leaned against it, her ebony curls ruffling against the wall. She grasped her silky white frock with one hand and with the other signaled him to come over near her.

He hesitated, wondering if he should obey her or not. Would doing so be giving into temptation? He hoped to God it would not be so. As if on instinct, he walked toward her, feeling as if he were in a trance of some sort. It was a peculiar feeling, one he was not accustomed to.

Walking toward her, he felt the tranquility of the garden envelop him. Lost in her green eyes, he noted in the back of his mind that he could not seem to find this inner peace when he was in a place of God, talking about Him, telling those what He wanted. That never seemed to calm the restless seas within him: the feeling he was experiencing now in the garden with Rosamond was unattainable in the house of God.

Her face softened, if that were possible, and her crimson lips formed into a smile. It took everything he could muster not to lean down and embrace her. Instead, he looked to the side, trying to avoid her gaze. This obviously displeased her, for her eyes showed her disappointment, but her lips were still upturned.

'Miss …Rosamond,' his voice cracked, but he persevered. 'You wished to speak with me?' he asked, trying to keep the stoicism of his appearance: he could not let his feelings show.

She smiled again, this time less playfully, and with a sombre air. 'Yes…St John," she paused, waiting for his approval to call him that. He unwillingly nodded, and she continued. 'I wished to speak with you.'

He paused, waiting for her to keep talking, but she did not. Instead, she looked to the stone-covered ground, her hair covering her insightful emerald eyes. He dared not speak, for any moment he felt as if he could break in half with the pressure of his temptation.

Looking up, she sniffed, and he noticed the tears rolling downwards over her snow-white cheeks. She gave a saturnine laugh and looked up at him. In one swift movement, his hand made its way toward her cheeks, brushing the flowing tears from the ivory skin they soiled. He almost froze, and as she touched his hand with hers, he gave a genuine smile. If he had been able to think at that moment, he would have cursed himself for falling into the serpent's trap. All he could think of now was fair Rosamond and her rosy lips.

While he was brushing her hair from her eyes with his other hand, she turned her head and softly kissed his palm. She looked back at him cautiously, and when he said nothing, she did so again.

No longer could he refuse the forbidden fruit. He leaned down and softly touched his lips to hers. Fulfillment came to him in an instance, and he wanted to stay in her embrace for all eternity.

They broke apart, and she gazed up at him.

'It is quite nice to see you smiling, for once, Mr Rivers.'

The formality between then confused him greatly. He did not ask why she had a sudden coldness toward him, and he was afraid that he had offended her. It was then that he noticed her left hand.

A small, gold band adorned her ring finger.

With a smile, she put her hand to his cheek, softly stroking it. 'I truly loved you, St John Rivers.'

Another breeze burst into the garden. Her pure white dress billowed in the wind, and in a matter of seconds, she had left him.

He could not move, nor speak, nor pray. He could only think: think about how he took a bite of that forbidden fruit, and how he gained the knowledge of both good and evil.

Regaining movement, he walked out of the garden and into the unfamiliar forest surrounding it, knowing that he had been forever expelled from Eden.

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End file.
